


Baked to Perfection

by yespolkadot_kitty



Series: Cupboard Love [4]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cooking, flirting, fluff, starring our two favourite witnesses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baked to Perfection

They stood in the kicthen, the weathered old cookbook propped up on an old wrought iron cookbook stand. Abbie turned to the correct page, splattered with God-knew-what, fingerprints, and plain old age-spots.

“This is one of my favourite recipes. Pineapple Upside Down cake. It’s older than time - so my Mama always used to say, anyway.”

Ichabod eyed the instructions. “I await my introduction with bated breath.”

She glanced at him, standing there, his apron on and tied around his waist. He was being serious, she realised. He really was enthused for the cake they were going to make together.

She _loved_ this goof.

They had decided to follow the recipe together as a sort of bonding exercise. Abbie felt that since her extended time away, their bond could do with a little house-keeping.

“I’ve done this before,” she told Ichabod. “So, you can be sous chef.”

He arched a brow. “I assure you, my ability to follow your instructions will be satisfactory.” He turned to fetch some of the ingredients, bending down into a cupboard. Abbie looked down at the curve of his backside and could think of a few other things that would be _more_ satisfactory.

He set the bowls, wooden spoons, flour, eggs and sugar on the counter.

“First,” Abbie read, “Chop the pineapple into rings around one centimetre thick.”

He did as she bade and she watched his hands work. He had the hands of an artist. Wide palm, long fingers. He moved with a sort of catlike grace, and then set the pineapple rings into a glass bowl.

“Now,” she continued, “Combine all the dry ingredients and mix well.”

They measured and poured together. After they sieved the flour and then added the sugar, Ichabod wiped his hands on his apron and then absent-mindedly rubbed a hand over his cheek. 

Abbie grinned at the sugar on his skin, and lifted her hand dust it off. “Sugar,” she explained.

“Ah. Thank you.”

“You’re sweet enough,” she teased, and was rewarded when his neck turned an appealing shade of pink.

“Yes, well,” he huffed. “Next?”

They melted butter, cooled it, and added eggs, then dumped the wet mixture into the dry. Ichabod placed the pineapple rings on the bottom of the greased cake pan whilst Abbie supervised.

“Would you care to report on my progress, Lieutenant? How do I fare as a sous chef?”

She smirked. “I think you’ll rise to the ocassion.”

He blushed again, her meaning not lost on him. This was _fun,_  she thought wickedly.

He poured the mixed batter over the rings, filling the cake tin.

“Bake for thirty minutes,” Abbie read from the book.

“And now we wait?”

Abbie tapped the end of the wooden spoon against her cheek, wondering. If it was too soon.

Then she decided that she’d waited long enough.

“I’ve got one last instruction for you, Crane.”

He raised his brows, waiting. 

“You did say your ability to follow my instructions would be satisfactory,” she added

He huffed. “And do you find it is not?”

“It all depends on your ability to follow this last instruction.” She moved closer to him, breathing him in. He smelled of clean soap, the soft wool of his open-necked shirt, and _man._  It was a heady perfume. “Take off your clothes.”

Only the timer on Abbie’s phone saved the cake from burning.


End file.
